


Nightswimming

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, One Night Stands, Pining, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John met someone at seventeen and never thought he'd find them again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightswimming

John was seventeen and secretly wild when they met. It was a hot, muggy summer and sneaking down to swim late at night seemed the only way to get cool. Sometimes he’d run across others and there would be snogging, sometimes more, but they were young and careless and always back in their beds by dawn.

But this one, this teen, had stuck in his mind. They’d met in the water, like he had so many others, and before long, kissing had turned to groping and moaning and before long John was taking him at the water’s edge, tasting pale skin and watching moonlit eyes. John never knew his name, though when they finished they didn’t break apart right away. Instead he lay in his arms as they stars wheeled overhead and for once wondered if there might be something more. But before he could ask or seek there was the sound of people approaching and, wary of the police, John scrambled for his trousers and took off, seeing the teen going in another direction.

The years passed. John got older, grew responsible. He finished uni and went into the military. Sometimes late at night he would remember a perfect moment, of an unnamed teen that felt perfect in his arms. But the memory of his face was long since faded with time, only the ghost of moonlight eyes remaining.

Then John got shot.”Please God, let me live,” he’d whispered against the coming darkness. But somehow he’d survived, though as he limped around London he wondered why. Suddenly Sherlock Holmes came crashing into his life and he was back on the battlefield, chasing after a madman, feeling alive for the first time in a very long time.

Perhaps it was inevitable that they should fall into bed together. It had been too many late nights, too many close calls. John hadn’t been with a man in a long time, but as he crawled over Sherlock to kiss him, his hands seemed to remember what they were doing, smoothing over a pale chest, feeling his accelerated heartbeat. Making love to Sherlock felt as natural as breathing.

Still, their lovemaking remained rare. Sherlock was far too self-centered for anything else. And that was fine. Though he never said it aloud, John loved him. The man was wild and untamed and sometimes it felt like being in love with a hurricane, but he had no interest in any other life.

And then one day Sherlock took his own life. John’s world went from color to black and white. He struggled harder than he ever had after getting shot. How can someone return to a ‘normal’ life when they’ve tasted something so much greater? He tried hooking up in bars a few times, but nothing could compare and so he stopped.

Mary seemed to come into his life at what seemed like the right time. He told himself he loved her, told himself he was doing the right thing. So when Sherlock came crashing into his life for the second time, John reacted with anger, tried to keep him away. But he never could resist the man’s orbit. They did not really touch, certainly never kissed, but John tried to keep him close by.

Everything exploded in the end. Playing with fire, John supposed. When all was said and done, he was back in Baker Street listening to the violin in the wee hours of the morning as he lay awake and stared at the ceiling of his old room. It felt odd to have no one beside him in bed. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs until Sherlock was standing in the doorway.

Hesitatingly, Sherlock offered his hand. He was dressed for going out, so John threw on jeans and a shirt, not taking his hand, but following him out. Sherlock said nothing, John assumed there was a case, so he leaned against the door of the cab and tried not to yawn.

He didn’t realize they’d left London until the cab stopped. For once Sherlock paid. Curious, John followed Sherlock down a path until they reached a pond. The detective started stripping and he wanted to protest that they’d be caught and charged with public indecency, at least. But, like so many times before, the protests died in his throat and he followed Sherlock’s lead.

The water was cool. They waded in just a short ways before Sherlock turned to face him. John’s breath caught in his throat and he surged forward to kiss the man, remembering seventeen and one night that had never truly faded. 

John had tears in his eyes as he made love to him at the water’s edge. Sherlock’s fingers carded through his hair as he finished and collapsed onto his chest. “How long have you known?” asked John quietly, though he hated to break the blessed silence.

“I have suspected a very long time,” admitted Sherlock, equally quiet. “But I was never certain.”

Raising his head, John kissed him again. “I love you.”

Sherlock cupped his face, moonlit eyes sad and hopeful at the same time. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you go beautifully heeled, practicefortheheart and demonicsymphony. And also to pocketsizedpeople for the prompt.
> 
> Also, [Nightswimming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-YHU6BwPR0) by REM, was playing in my head the whole time.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
